Shinsen: The Lightning Blade Clan
by Oldboy Webre
Summary: 10,000 years ago, a betrayal took place, a leader fell, a clan was saved, and a prophecy was fortold. The Lightning Blade Clan put their hopes in this boy...when they were alive... Adventure, drama, later romance. Please review.
1. TrailerDisclaimer

Before I go all RP, I'm gonna say a few things so that I don't get sued :

1) I don't own Warcraft, World of Warcraft, any of its locations, any of its characters (except the members of the Lightning Blade Clan. Those are players). Blizzard has the rights, and Blizzard will sue the crap out of anyone that even TRIES to take anything of theirs.

2) I'm updating as my character, Shinsen, levels. He's currently level 30.

3) I rate this T for mild violence and mild language.

Without further ado...

In the words of Illidan, they call me the traitor, but in truth, it was I who was betrayed...

-An original fanfic-

These words ring true for me, and my clan...

-Created by OrcShinsen-

Even then, in the times of legend where our clan was strong, it was too fast, too soon. We were overwhelmed...

-Inspired by Warcraft-

And history repeats itself.So let me tell you an orc's tale of sorrow and terror, of failure and courage. Let me tell you how, in an instant, one's life can be changed forever, and a dead clan can become united.

Shinsen: The Lightning Blade Clan


	2. Introduction

Shinsen: The Lightning Blade Clan

10,000 years earlier

"The true story started at noon one day on Draenor. The honorable Lightning Blade Clan was a young clan, but confident in their abilities. They had won many battles against the neighboring warlords, not for combat with arms, but for their ability with the shamanic arts and endurance. The oldest living member of the Lightning Blade Clan, Shinsen, stood poised on a terra-cotta colored cliff, covered in mail armor. He touched his eyes, and a small line of light formed a circle on the ground below him. He gazed out across the red landscape of Draenor, eyes bathed in a golden shine. He turned to the soldier to his left, mounted on a wolf, and let a single phrase pass from his lips: "They're coming..." The blue soldier didn't even bother saying a word, but merely increased his grip on his mount as it sprinted southwest, as if crazed. The wolf knew what was happening, and under the silver plate armor that covered him, the wolf's heart pumped. The clanwolves were not ignorant; they were wiser than all orcs other than the Farseers. For the clanwolves, specific to the Lightning Blade Clan, were not really wolves at all, and under the same armor that protected them lay a dark secret... The soldier's wolf stopped at 500 yards a few seconds later to howl mournfully; then he sprinted towards the barren horizon.The howl did more than echo across the landscape. Twenty leagues away in a small encampment, three wolves perched on small plateaus howled the same song, and immediately the camp came alive. Dark-skinned orcs hurried to put on their armor, and in seconds the camp was filled with unsaddled wolves and men, along with three warriors on clanwolves... but only two were clearly orcish. One was different... a difference easily seen, but not easily named. Under the armor, the skin was blue, and directly below the helmet lay small tentacles. The rider, or Raider, was not orcish at all, but draenei. The second Raider, orcish, gently ran his dark green hands down his wolf's unprotected section of the neck. The first and highest-ranked made a haughty sound, and in the rough tone used only from upper-ranked to the lower-ranked, noticing every detail of the second's movement. "Pah! Roga'sh, you'll only spoil your wolf if you treat it in such a way! Show no affection! Affection is weakness, and I will not have weakness in my Raider platoon!" Roga'sh nodded his head, but his words did not show submission. "Gron, I understand. But I am a shaman, and you are a warrior; keep this in mind. I feel affection for this creature because it is more than a creature." "I will not have further disrespect. And a creature is a creature." "You will never understand."The third Raider, and one of the only two draenei in the clan, showed something rare: A sign of communication. Even the stoic Gron took a second away from his arguing to be shocked at the draenei's nod. Then he snapped back to his natural "Gron face," except even more red-faced than usual. This, in hindsight, could have been a sign of what was to come... but Grom interrupted the moment. "BAH! I guess DISCIPLINE isn't common action in the Draenei culture! I will not accept such GALL from a mere blueba--" Gron did not finish his sentence, because the draenei did something never before seen by any man other than Shinsen himself--he spoke. His words were flat and absolute, taking no apologies and making none. Through gritted teeth, his words were heard: "Don't call me that."So simple, but Gron was speechless. The platoon rode silently for the rest of the journey.At dusk, the platoon reached the rider whom was with Shinsen at noon. The soldier was silent, but dismounted and quickly began the casting of a spell. The Raiders were soon facing a hole in existance itself, and through this hole they could see Shinsen. They stepped through, all four. The others would catch up soon; first the unsaddled Ghost wolves, and then the warriors. As they stepped through the portal, the Raiders dismounted out of respect. The old, white-haired Shinsen greeted them by taking off his helmet, and grinning a slightly mischevious, slightly affectionate smile. "Greetings, Raiders. Look accross the horizon, and tell me what you see..." Roga'sh noticed the glow of the elder's eyes, and followed instructions. Over the dusty, rolling hills, the shaman could see nothing. He was not old enough for his Far sight to have the range of Shinsen's, but he still knew what was happening. "I can see naught but dust. My lord, you know I cannot see across leagues as you can... please, tell me why you torment me?"Shinsen laughed. "I mean nothing harmful by it, young one. But look closely... Even without Far Sight, these old eyes can see them."Roga'sh looked again. He gasped, an uncommon thing among orcs, especially shamans and warriors. Their numbers reminded him of the time a clan grunt platoon stumbled upon a shellback nest on a minor raid. An axe a soldier was brandishing without respect scraped accross the ground at the wrong time, and soon the shellback insects were everywhere. So bad was the incident that the shellbacks bit and stung the platoon for weeks, delaying the raid. He couldn't help but inwardly chuckle... the one who annoyed the shellbacks was him. The other soldiers pushed him for weeks. But look at him now... those soldiers were still the same rank, and with the power he had now, he could personally command the troops to walk into a shellback nest without question. Snapping him back from his memories was the shriek of a Black Wyvern, unique to the Blackrock clan. Shinsen's voice was strong as he yelled, "Get down!" (enforcing it upon the three raiders with his hands) and sent a lightning bolt up at the wyvern-riding bomber. The bomber was shot down before he could release his weapon--a bomb (obviously), crafted from steel and wyvern blood. By now, the other troops had arrived, and the enemy troops were halfway to Shinsen and the three raiders. The troops immediately rushed to battle, hammers and axes in hand, spearheaded by Gron, mounted once more. The two other raiders, still unmounted, stood on the cliff with Shinsen, who wore a weary smile on his face. Turning to both of his flanks and adressing the two, he spoke the last words before the battle. "Let's try to raise some hell out there, shall we?" Roga'sh nodded, a grin on his face, and began to cast a chain lightning spell, while his companion quickly went through the motions to create the necessary totems. Shinsen looked wearily across the battlefield before commencing to roar, an ear-splitting roar, and hurling lightning bolts.A few hours later, the battle was still going. Neither side was winning by a large amount of troops, but the enemy was gaining ground. Shinsen nodded his old head and said to his companions, "It's time." The raiders mounted, and Shinsen did the same on a much larger, older wolf. The three burst into enemy lines, smashing and hacking. Gron lay on the ground, slain... the draenei felt a tinge of sadness, but Roga'sh gazed upon the corpse in unbelief before roaring in a voice equal to Shinsen's, a voice that stopped both sides' fighting for a second to gaze upon Roga'sh. His face was that of an enraged orc, but his eyes were crying. Dismounting, he unsheathed his axe and rushed, head first, into the enemy lines. He took about twenty orcs of the Blackrock clan with him upon breaking the lines, and then the fighting commenced again. The Blackrock troops soon surrounded him, doing much damage to Roga'sh, but taking much more. He soon broke his way out of the lines, having diminished most of the enemy troops. But he had broken out of the fray for a different reason than survival... Shinsen lay on the ground, and the last living Raider of his platoon was standing in front of him, hammer raised. From the marks on Shinsen's flanks, Roga'sh could tell that his companion had hit Shinsen from behind with a Flame Shock, then Frost Shock, and then (using the ice from the frost shock as a conductor) smashed Shinsen with the most mana-charged lightning bolt he could muster... but before his traitorous companion could land his hammer and take the elder's life, Roga'sh's axes found their mark into the foul soldier. He took one last shocked look behind him to find out what had happened, before narrowing his eyes, falling to his knees, and roaring, roaring until his blue body fell dead.

Roga'sh ran with all the speed of a clanwolf to the almost unrecognizable form of Shinsen. To his relief, he was still alive, if wounded and oddly out of breath. Shinsen, saving the precious oxygen he had in his lungs, moved his hands to his chest, where Roga'sh could see two gaping blows--most likely done by a dagger the draenei had been hiding. The gaps were in a very vital place...Roga'sh gasped as he saw the cuts that had pierced Shinsen's lungs. Shinsen decided to use his last breath to speak to Roga'sh..."My son... the draenei is not to blame for this entirely... he is... altered..." Shinsen coughed out the words, gasping for breath, but finding no place to put it. "Look...above...y-you..." Roga'sh, through his tears, obeyed, and gazed, shocked, at the red inferno that was the once-blue sky of Draenor. Looking back to Shinsen, he heard the elder's final words: "My...son... this barren place is my deathbead, just as I..." Shinsen coughed, a dry, raspy cough, signaling death's approach. "...predicted. It is said that...a shaman can see...a...very important thing at the end of his life, and I see..." The cough grew more intense. Time was running out, an Shinsen rushed to finish his words. "...I see a warrior, no, a shaman, fifty generations from now... make it known in the clan that this orc is to be named Shinsen, also... but to do such, you must live! Flee! Flee this wretched place! Demons...! Demons are coming! Draenor is finished... you must live! Leave the battlefield now, and take my daughter with you! As far as I...know, the only way for your survival is to take my mount, and rush to the portal... surely Bardesh, our only mage, has betrayed us as well... hurry, before he closes it! Then, take my daughter and tell her to take you to Ra'shik... she will know what you are speaking of! With you together, the clan will have heirs, and one day they stow away on a Draenei ship to go to the New World... Now, go!" "But--" "GO!!"These were the last words of Shinsen the elder, and they were obeyed. What the Elder forced Roga'sh to flee from turned out to be the demons that enslaved the Orcish race, and thus, Roga'sh and the Elder's daughter stayed on Draenor. Even when it imploded, they stayed on the main part of it, now known as the Outland. Roga'sh the Mighty and Shinsen's daughter, Fenla, escaped to an underground chasm, presumably the 'Ra'shik' spoken of. The heirs to the clan eventually found their way to Earth. To this day, the traitor's name is unknown. Today, the one spoken of by the Elder is here today...dozing in class..." The young orc woke up immediately. "No I'm not!"


	3. Chapter 1: Trust and Murder

The following are journal entries found in an old diary found in the Arathi Highlands...The eighth month, of the third day, 13 N.H. (New Horde)The teacher caught me snoozing in class today, in the tale of the honorable Shinsen... Like it's my fault, I've heard this story for years on end... who knows what ol' Shinsen the first was talking about back then? It might not even mean anything. I don't even get why I have to learn this stuff; I'm soon to be a shaman, and shamans learn all they need to know in nature...outside. Why can't I be out there instead of in here? I'm ten years old, and I've already started pre-training excercises, like knowing how to speak with trees and animals... why can't I practice that instead of memorization? I think I will, tomorrow. That old ogre can't do anything to me, I'm the 'chosen one' in her mind... So tomorrow I'm going to talk with the spirits allllll day! Take that, miss Ka'jul!The third month, of the sixteenth day, 14 N.H. Today we found a little draenei boy while in the woods...actually, I did! I've become very proficient at speaking with spirits, and they told me something unusual this morning. They said that a little blue boy was lost in the forest... so I cut class and searched. Using them to guide me, I found the little boy and brought him to the village... he couldn't speak! He speaks some wierd language, or maybe he's just crazy... I don't know. But the villagers treat him with hostility, though they let him into the clan grounds. They refer back to the old story about Shinsen...yeah, yeah, what do I care? It doesn't mean anything... that was a thousand years ago! They're different now. The boy I saved is really happy, I bet. He acts a little bit wierd, tho. Whatever, I'm gonna cut class again tomorrow and play with him!P.S... Dad chewed me out for skipping class. He said intelligence was still important to a shaman...Yeah right.The first month, of the tenth day, 15 N.H.The little draenei boy, who I've dubbed Gral, seems to have settled in, even though he still acts wierd around the adult orcs. I try to calm him, but he seems scared. Not of me, but of the adults. It makes no sense! We're best friends; why can't he settle? He's a smart one (I know because we can communicate by signs and utteral speech), so he should know we're not all that dangerous. I just can't figure it out.The fifth month, of the twentieth day, 16 N.H.I've grown a lot stronger over the past year. Now the spirits are more than a whisper; now, when channeled, it is a howl. Gral's been acting wierd lately, and (get this!) he cut class today and went somewhere. I don't know where, but he made me promise not to tell anyone. Hm... I worry. What if he's getting into trouble? ...You know, the bad kind?The sixth month, of the twenty-fifth day, 16 N.H. Isn't fate cruel? It's the day of my birth, and the day of manys' deaths... It was to be the first day of my shaman training today... we were to start at night, and I'd learn how to cast a thunderbolt. How excited I was...but fate strikes in odd times. As my father and I were striking out for the spirit meadow, the most spiritual place in all of the land the clan owns, our settlement was discovered and raided by a draenei raider squadron.Grall ran straight to him... when I looked at him, he beckoned to me. As the clan was slaughtered, all I could do was shake my head in shock. He looked at me, confused and hurt, as if he thought that I wanted my clan to die...the bastard. I will hunt him down one day. All of the clan is dead... why do I even write this? My father hid me, and because of it he was cut down... I should kill myself. But I won't. He killed himself for me. And so I will mourn his death, but not give up mine. Since he died for me, killing myself would be the ultimate dishonor to him... Who knows? Perhaps I'm lying to myself... But I have made up my mind.The eleventh month, of the twenty-third day, 16 N.H.I have been trying to support myself since that fateful day by raising crops, but as it's winter, I cannot do that any more, and I've had to kill animals. The meat is good, but it is soiled by the sense of guilt I have for the animal. The spirits are stronger in me now, and they say that it is the circle of life... I still feel the guilt, however. To kill it with my own hands is a bitter feeling. I'm sure I will never become a shaman, as I don't believe shamans exist outside the clan... But the spirits will guide me in what I do, so I am content. Yet the food will grow scarce soon... how will I survive then? All I can do is wait.The twelth month, of the sixteenth day, 16 N.H.The most amazing thing happened today! An orc, just like me, passed by here, covered in armor and followed by a large group. The orc turned out to be Thrall, the leader of the main Orcish nation, the Horde (I can't believe it! An outside world so large... amazing!). He took one look at me and smiled. He said he was here "looking for survivors of the raid of the Arathi Highlands..." Arathi Highlands? I don't know, but he also said that he had not seen one who the spirits were not strong since his youth. When I told him that I could never be a shaman, he said I could! He said that there are shamans in the Horde that can teach me the powers of nature! Can you believe it? And as proof, he taught me how to cast a lightning bolt! I rode on the back of his war wolf to Orgrimmar, the capital city. He gave me food, he himself trained me, and he shared my pain... some day I will repay that man. But for now, I go back to my home.The sixth month, of the twenty-fifth day, 21 N.H.I am eighteen years old now. I'm finally able to enlist as a hero and repay Thrall by serving the Horde. When I told Thrall I was to enlist, he looked sad, and yet proud of me. All new recruits are going to the Valley of Trials for training... and I'm one of them. I'll prove my worth, and I'll give my life for the Horde... And I'll also find that bastard, Gral, and I'll kill him. I swear it. My clan will be avenged.


	4. Chapter 2: Call to Arms

We, orcs of unity, were all heading to the valley of Trials by wolf caravan. We were given simple tasks for the foremen at first, but these tasks were quickly accomplished by the initiate groups. I, having hunted the much faster rabbits in the Arathi Highlands, quickly slew enough scorpids and boars to get someone's attention. She was a troll, female, and beckoned me over quickly, giving me a mission: To slay members of the Burning Blade clan. I was quickly aroused by this; a clan? They still exist? Nevertheless, I took it upon myself to do this. I found them a lot like the legends of the Blackrock clan... some warriors but dominantly warlocks and demons. This altogether was more combat experience than I've had since the time a stray tiger wandered into my home; I felt I was getting stronger; by the time I came back from the quest, I felt stronger than ever. Throughout my tasks, I felt someone watching me, and I was soon pulled aside by a troll I had seen near the "Den"... the spirits told me to comply, and I listened to his words. "Shinsen. Your time has come to heed the call of earth. Find the alter of earth, and see the spirits. To do this you will have to slay two Felstalkers and bring their hooves back to me; I will give you the necessary potion." Instead of heading over to the Burning Blade Coven, where felstalkers are commonly found, I walked behind the trainer, into the large, bowl-like part of the Valley, and began to seek out the entrance to the alter... I had long been able to see spirits, and they guided me to the altar. What I saw was very uncommon; it was Earth, in a considerable concentration of the essence. He spoke to me with words full of wisdom and understanding, yet with an unwillingness to bend. Feeling weaker in comparison but strengthened by his words, I walked down the mountain to the trainer, who gave me a totem of earth. Once I had said my goodbyes, I walked away from the valley of trials, confident in my abilities. But it would be a long way to go if I were to truly strengthen.[Level 4It was about a year later when I was assigned something worth speaking of... I was assigned to halt a minor incident at a camp in the Razor Hill. I must admit; I was afraid, a bit, not of dying, but of failing my duty. I owed Thrall so much; I could NOT fail the Horde! Yet, how could I stand idle in the face of Thrall, the one who saved me, and gave me a possibility of life? I would kill myself rather than disappoint that man, and because of that, I can easily give my life for the Horde. I held in my hands a shield and a rather large hammer, given to me by Thrall himself for completing a mission in the capital city, and I was fully intent on using it. It was indeed a minor incident, in the grand scheme of things; a few men and dwarves were supposedly hanging about the camp, injuring an initiate guard before running away from the main guards. Six men of my strength were assigned, along with me, to hunt down these Alliance troops. I had long since harbored a fierce hatred for the Alliance for their raid on the clan... of which I had told no one except Thrall. When our group arrived at Razor Hill, I was able to look at the guard who was injured; a young orcish girl, still attempting to stay at her post, but cringing in pain. How long it has been since I had seen someone so diligent for the Horde. I knelt down and healed her wound, a spell I had learned in the Valley of Trials... She looked at me, grateful, before pointing and screaming out all of a sudden, "THERE!" I quickly snapped my head in the direction of the finger... and I caught a glimpse of human skin. They seemed to be taking shelter around Tiragarde Keep. I was confused for a moment; I had long since been able to sense and point out life forms and discriminate between which races they were. Yet, though I saw the man, I felt no aura. The spirits were hiding him, and probably the others... which meant that there must be a shaman amongst them. I knew that no member of the Horde would DARE throw their lots in with the Alliance; and that meant that there was--"A draenei..." I finished my thoughts in words. We would have to find them using the Hunter in our party; though he was still too inexperienced to track men, he detected an animal in the Keep; something unseen since the keep was built. Drawing the conclusion that this was the pet of a dwarven hunter, we set out, slaying marines and sailors along the way. I almost pitied them, but there is no pity for those who oppose the Horde. The final battle was fought on an open, bridge-like part of the tower, high above the ground. There were four of them, all about my strength... the odds were in our favor. As our forces clashed, I stood back, casting spells, leaving me time to inspect our enemies further. Eyes darting from enemy to enemy, I counted them--two humans, a dwarf, and an oddly familiar draenei... my eyes grew wide, and though I could not believe it was Gral, the face on this blueback looked so alike his... My eyes grew red, or so said my comrades, and I charged with my hammer straight into the draenei. I killed him in a matter of seconds. I had already set up my Strength of Earth Totem, and had added Flametongue to my weapon; the flame cut past his leather armor as my roar cut through the air, a more hateful sound than I had ever heard come from my throat. I cracked down the hammer on his blue skull, and heard it crack. I then turned to the surviving Alliance, and slew them as well. Panting, I could not face up to my comrades for what I had done, and why I had done it; though they would most definately approve of my hatred, I did not wish to revisit my memories. I pulled out the hearthstone, given to all initiates at the Valley of Trials, and warped straight to Orgrimmar to inform Thrall of our success. But this was just the beginning of my war against the Alliance.[Level 11


	5. Untold Story: Close to Death

This 'chapter' is often left out of Shinsen's story--it is rather small, which is the reason, and very minor, but it provides some insight on some of his experiences with dungeons.It was a few months later when I experienced my first defeat. I had decided to brave the depths of the Ragefire Cavern. The first beast I saw was a strange-looking snake; I would soon learn the cost of defeat. Upon attacking it, I noticed two things: first of all, my lightning bolt and flame shock had little effect on the monster. And second of all, the beast was coming straight towards me, much faster than any monster I'd ever experienced. Bracing myself and cursing my own foolishness, I bit in and attempted to hold my ground. I should have ran, however; the monster was too quick, and reduced me to shreds in moments. At that moment, I felt an odd sensation in my stomach, and all of a sudden, I could see myself on the ground. Looking at myself, all I felt was regret that I was too confident in my own abilities to consort with the spirits about this strange new beast. However, the spirits were merciful; they had made me 'die' before my life energies had really given out. My lesson learned, the hard way, I returned to the world of the living and left the cavern, determined to re-enter with a group.[Level 12


	6. Chapter 3: Trial by Fire

Chapter 3

A year and a half later, I had grown much, and by then I commanded fire itself in the forms of totem and spell. I had long since learned the values of knowledge, and I wished I would have paid more attention in school. The long, ardorous days of fighting in Durotar had taught me much, however, and I had become an apprentice of the trade of herbalism. Herbs could be sold for gold, which could be used for weapons, which could be used for the Horde. It was finally time for me to leave the familiar grounds of Durotar and head to the stretching desert known as the Barrens, this time for good (I had to go to the Barrens to master fire, but I made my time there short)... or at least until I was strong enough to venture out into Ashenvale, or maybe Stonetalon. However, in the spirit of training, I headed out into the Barrens. I got a bad vibe from that place; I still do, and try to avoid it to this day... however, orcs, trolls and tauren at my strength were expected to make our way to the Barrens, and increase our stamina through experience in the searing heat. Though Durotar and the Valley of Trials were clayborn, rocky land without much shade, it was not particularly hot; however, the Barrens were a different story altogether, though it taught me many things. The first thing I noticed was that the monsters were stronger here; though it was clear that they possessed only my level of strength, their skills in fighting were better than the skill of the beasts in Durotar. What's an orc to do, neh? I merely bit in and took the wounds, working on to slay the beasts. Most monsters in the Barrens are actually not 'monsters' at all, per se, but instead mostly four-legged beasts; the tough zevhra, the cunning hyena, and the vicious crocolisk. I was always watching my back for these, and more intently for a more powerful enemy: the raptor. Though they walk on two legs, this doesn't mean that they are weaker than the four-legged beasts; on the contrary, now there were two more deadly weapons the Barrens could use against me. I learned to go about my business and missions quickly; the Barrens' sun will burn into your back, and weaken your soul. Needless to say, I was beside myself (in glee, and in rage) when I found a safe haven: Ratchet. It's a moderately sized goblin trade post, with shade and inns (glee), but it's also responsible for letting many Alliance men into our country (pure rage). The ships from Ratchet come from and to Booty Bay, a far larger goblin post, and Booty Bay has two ship routes... one to Ratchet, and one to Alliance territory (I'd never been there, so I couldn't have named the city). Many humans and draenei (my hatred for them had grown even more that year) came from their shores to ours, to slay and kill honorable and innocent Hordesmen. I walked away from Ratchet in a huff after learning this, and headed northeast to the Crossroads, and then west, to the Wailing Caverns (I organized a group first, of course, I had learned earlier that dungeons cannot be done by an individual of my strength alone). Our group had a sacred mission: to purify the cursed druids within the caverns in the only way possible...death (I must admit, I took pleasure from killing the druids, which were nightelves), and to finally end the curse over the Caverns. Over a long series of challenges, we slew all of the druids, and cut down Verdan the Everliving, a gigantic bog monster... but who would we be to truly awaken the Dreamer? That would be treason, to let the elf live. These are but a few of the experiences I had in the Barrens, but the lessons learned were of stamina and speed, both of which the survivors of the Barrens all learned. It was another milestone on my journey to become a Farseer. However, a very important thing was also to happen in my time of the Barrens; on one of my brief leaves from the Barrens to go to the capital city, the spirits inclined me to create a guild. Though I do not consider myself much of a leader(asking for power is the essence of the shaman... we request lightning and fire to bend, and we recieve as long as we humble ourselves), I followed this call. The name revealed to me made me gasp to myself; I was to name the guild the Lightning Blade Clan.It was a tough job, rallying people with my cries of glory and battle with the Clan, but I got fifteen people the first day to join me. Most notably was Cheatoh, a good guy and a stolid fighter. We bounced around in the numbers for a bit, but when things went bad Cheatoh and I held up a steady income of members. Along this period of time, we established a firm friendship, strengthened over time by constantly raiding the Wailing Caverns, slaying the seemingly endless druids. We even ran around in Ashenvale for a bit, fearless of the Alliance, confident in our combined strength. It was a very good time, and we had a lot of fun… but my times of innocence would not last.[Level 17


	7. Chapter 4: The Fire Inside

The roots of the clan were never far from my mind. As I progressed in my travels, I gained more and more hatred, more and more burning fury in my mind… so much so that it was like a hurricane in my belly and head, a storm on the inside that I concealed with mere self-control. I have seen fellow orcs consumed by Blood Fury; I laugh at them on the inside. They feel so horrible and powerful at the same time, and yet I just felt the horror. Such pain I felt that before I lay down to sleep at night I screamed in my mind, wishing to roar in pain and the longing for more blood… a pain I share now with only one person… but I digress. The pain numbed the senses, and though the spirits told me to release this anger, to let it go, I could not. In truth, I had been scarred by my past, and I would not be able to live without the screams of battle… and so I moved on to the province of the Stonetalon Mountains.Such memories of Stonetalon! Such glorious warfare! I admit, it was rather rare to see Alliance in Stonetalon, but I had good, good feelings from that land. I guess it reminded me a bit of Durotar, in a ruggedly comfortable kind of way. I could not stay in Ashenvale for long; the lands belonged to the Nightelves in my mind, and Stonetalon to us. The shade of Ashenvale was not for me; I needed the sun and wind. Let the rogues and mages wander into that land; as for me, my soul rested in Stonetalon. It felt like home, and over time my name became well-known in the village of Sun Rock. I was victorious over many adversaries… but alas, though such memories I have of Stonetalon, I cannot say that all were pleasant. Though I never lost once to adventurers of my prowess (or slightly above), as I was coming victorious from a minor skirmish in Winshear Crag, I was cut down by a pair of Alliance outrunners, the likes of which I had never seen the prowess… I could not even begin to estimate their strength, they were so high a level. Foolish was I; though I was not fully dead, when my consciousness returned to my body I continued to Sun Rock. What I saw there was a bitter, bitter memory, and not very timely. The outrunners were slaughtering all in Sun Rock, and even some travelers I had seen along the way. I was forced to hide, first on a cliff and then in the local inn. The tauren in the main room did not seem aware of what was going on, and I could not wake him. He seemed to be in a trance. Though I consider myself to be in shape even now, I had not the strength to move him. His own physical prowess, which had undoubtedly saved his life so many times before, would now be the bane of him. Though my heart plagued me that I could not save him, I heard the door be knocked in. They were coming! The storm in my mind was cackling, screaming wildly for battle against the forces that killed my family then and my friends now. Though I had always considered my life to be a meaningless thing (thus was the tradition of Draenor, and the tradition of my clan), the spirits were screaming louder than ever before, louder even then the fire within. For a moment I lost control of my body, and without my consent I jumped over the balcony of the inn. My body sat behind that inn for at least an hour… I could only look over the corner of the inn to see my companions die one by one. I looked over at the travelers I had seen bustling through the town… they could be resurrected. However, I remembered the tauren, and many others throughout the village; they were too far gone. I called upon the spirits mournfully, and I was transformed into nature's form of flesh… the spirit wolf. The spirits gave me no other option… I had to retreat. My mind felt torn in two; the storm in my head told me to turn and fight, yet the spirits screamed to run. I guess the form I had taken had some effect on this inward battle, and my body chose to respond to the spirits instead of me. My body left the field, but my mind long stayed in Sun Rock. I had in my book the things these people had asked me to do for them before they died, and I finished these tasks for their memory before coming back to Sun Rock. My forty-odd clansmen had agreed to leave me be for the two hours I would spend in mourning for the souls of the departed. I sat, knees bent, at the memorial fire I had set in their honor. The fire was fueled by nature itself; even the tears from my eyes would not ever weaken the small fire I had set. But as my tears stopped flowing and the residue attached itself to my face, my expression changed. My soul, weighed down with the memories of those I could not save, was reacting to the pain in the only way it knew how……rage.[Level 24


	8. Untold Story: The House Reformation

Maybe you don't understand the pain I felt, but you must at least understand the inspiration I had now to act, to fight. Moving out of Stonetalon, I consumed myself in the battlegrounds of Arathi Basin and Warsong Gulch. We didn't always win, but winning was not the object. Killing was, and it was an objective that I always succeeded in. Such passion I had, such fire for battle! I can feel it now—it is a part of the orcish spirit, and it will always be. But every time I killed in fury, the spirits recoiled, begging me to stop but not willing to fully take control. I would take it as far as I could go. I became well-known for my passion in the battlegrounds, and steadily gained reputation among the Defilers and Warsong Outriders. However, in my battles I was also denying the regrettable fact that tension was growing in the Clan. The warriors with different codes of honor were making their beliefs evident to one another, and the diplomats constantly squabbled with the warriors. It came to such a point that some began to desert the Clan. As I laid myself down to bed one night, however, an idea struck me. If there was dissention among those of different personalities, would it not be best to merely separate them into divisions of close brothers instead of a rough mob of quarreling men? I passed the idea around with my blademasters, Cheatoh and Reakan, before organizing the ranks into three Houses, one led independently by me and the rest by my blademasters. We could not have more than ten ranks (there would be such confusion, I must say that most members of the Horde have a bit less intelligence than others), that including the rank of Warlord and Blademaster; thus we could not have three ranks in each House. I sacrificed a bit, having only two ranks. Reakan chose his House to be called the House of Crackling Thunder; Cheatoh chose a simpler name, the Armor Division. As for me, I chose a very simple name that was not showy but mature. I called my House the House of Honor. Immediately I noticed a difference. The rules were laid out that differences must be put aside in general meetings, but that the things that set the men apart would be discussed in House-specific meetings. The men immediately took their oaths, and a strong sense of loyalty and belonging was established. They are happy, happier than when the ranks were a mere set of names lined up in order.


	9. Chapter 5: Dancing Shadows of War

The time had come for the warlike roots of our clan to reveal itself. Cheatoh and his motley crew of warriors (known for the lack of sophistication they made up for in battle skills) of the Armor Division had declared war on a local guild known as the Dark Blade Cult. I was not there for the declaration, but my clansmen alerted me through my guildstone to watch out and not listen to a word that Jungae, their leader, said. A guildstone is a small, green stone, perhaps slightly less than the size of an eyeball (alright, not very subtle, but it is the only thing I could refer it to), a third or fourth of it clasped in silver, which had a small chain attached. Soon enough, as some had warned me, I was met by an ambassador of the Cult. He had low-quality gear and weapons; clearly he had no true strength as of yet. But then again, who was I to judge? Perhaps it is I that had no true strength. Regardless, I looked him up and down. I could probably take two or three men of his strength on… this thought came to me upon looking at his expression. He seemed in slight despair, and in more evident anger. I walked with him to the Inn in Razor Hill to meet with his leader. Though told to avoid him, how could I? This was a monumental thing Cheatoh had brought upon us. First of all, I thought immediately of speaking with Cheatoh, chastising him for his impulsive decision, and settling things professionally. However, a bad thought struck me as I traveled. How could I interfere with the Armor Division, since it was I that set up the independence of the Houses? The answer brought my spirits down a bit—I could not. It would make me a hypocrite (a despicable thing by any account), sever the trust my clansmen had in the system, and invite chaos to reign freely. Upon reaching the inn, the ambassador left to train. Looking around, I saw that the inn was not a gigantic location, but it was full enough to keep business up for travelers. Looking forward, I saw my objective: Jungae, and his companion Thal'kor. Feeling a bit uncomfortable with the fact that I was outnumbered (I was clearly not outgunned, for I had more strength than theirs combined, but there is something unnerving about being outnumbered), I discreetly pulled my guildstone from my pocket and called on a friend of mine… Tamachi, an Orcish hunter of much physical strength. Delaying the main meeting until Tamachi arrived, Jungae outlined the problem, most of which I had already been told. In less than a minute, however, Tamachi arrived on a brown wolf and dismounted. I could see that Jungae and Thal'kor were impressed; he was indeed a sight to behold, clad in his armor and wielding a great claymore. "Sorry I'm late. Let's get on with it." And thus we did. I had a bad feeling when the meeting began, and it got worse as the meeting went on. It came to a head when they said that they would go to war against the whole clan, not only the Armor Division, and that they personally knew members of the Alliance that could hunt us down. Tamachi grasped my shoulder, holding me back from the bastards. "Traitors to the Horde! Do you have no shame?" They insisted, however, that I was the one that was the traitor, as I was willing to kill a fellow orc. What is truly wrong with this? It was war on orcs in Draenor, and thus what is wrong with war on Azeroth? Did race truly make a difference? No, it was the nations that we went to war with, and the nations' decisions. However, they kept on bending the truth, convincing themselves that they were the righteous ones. I kept on pressing this to the point that they walked out on us. War it was.However, later on someone in the Cult contacted me. He was convinced that the war would destroy the Cult, and ruin his friendship with Jungae. The war must stop, or so he said. I had to inform him that this war could not be halted, and he was distraught. He had a firm friendship with Jungae, but disagreed with the war and the Cult's demonic tendencies. He would consider joining the Clan, but for now he would merely keep us posted on the Cult's movements. The drums of war were beginning to thunder, and the beat was familiar to my Clan. We know the rhythm in a way that others do not… so come, Dark Blade scum. We will settle this as soon as you man up to an arena battle. Come! Let your screams be heard as far as the Twisting Nether! Let even the demons who reside there scream for mercy at the hands of the Lightning Blade Clan!


	10. Chapter 6: Exorcism of the Blade

The Dark Blade Cult was weak, and stayed that way for a good amount of time. We had skirmishes on sight, and the Clan members were patriotic. I was worried, as I knew the costs of war, but the Clan was always spurring me on, lifting my spirits. I am glad that we have such brothers in our clan…the loyal stay loyal, and many of the disloyal come back. In addition to the friend of Jungae's, we planted two spies. Admittedly, I did not want spies in their ranks—it is not in my nature to be underhanded in such a way. However, whom could I control? Those who wished to spy, I allowed them. In this way, we learned disturbing things about the Cult. There were three branches (much like ours. Jungae reports that it was his idea in the first place…but none but the spirits guided me in my decisions), each having a 'military' rank and worshipping a specific…demon. One even worshipped Kil'jaeden. This is when I began to focus. All members started to declare duels upon sight of Dark Blade Cultists… and we never lost a one. After a month of skirmishes, Jungae appealed for a cease-fire. He was attempting to manage two guilds, and his lack of dedication had caused a series of events to make one crumble… I took mercy upon him, though I did not want to. I declared that the war would be halted for now, though any further hostility would result in total war, ending in nothing but complete and unconditional surrender of the Dark Blades. Jungae apologized, thanked me, and walked away, tail between his legs.

To this day I have never seen another Dark Blade Cultist.

Power to the Lightning Blade Clan.


	11. Chapter 7: Memoirs of an Oak

Growth… A tree grows slowly into a mighty oak, calm, strong, and consistent. Indeed, this is how we have grown. We are about two months old, and we are 75 members strong. Many of them are very active, very unique people, who are willing to go the extra mile for the Clan and its members. We banded together to do many feats, and we soon would attempt do crush the Scarlet Monastery together. Being together with my brothers made a smile conquer my face, no matter what we did. But the best thrill we ever got was banding together to fight the Alliance. Many a times I howled out in pain in the Stranglethorn Vale, and Anoa or another came to my aid. In this same vein, I heard the screams of Lioniduz through my guildstone—coming to his aid, we slew the Alliance who had attacked him. Brothers of the Horde and of the Clan, there was no better glory. Pride is something that we in the Clan held dear, and though much pride was squandered at the blades of the Alliance, we always pulled through when just one brother put in his sword to defend… there is something about being with someone you love that makes you protect them all the more, and that is what made us so strong. We grew closer together in battle, stronger by each man felled, like a blade folded over and over… through trial and tribulation, and a thousand encounters, we pulled through and got stronger. Someone I met not too long ago said to me, "I've heard a great deal about the Clan…" And this is what I hope to achieve. There are many guilds in our world that are large and strong—the Loyal, One Tribe, and especially Rutilus Luna… It is my dream to be so strong that we could defeat them in Arena Battles. I would love to pit the roots of the Clan against a strong band of brothers like ourselves—if not for reasons of morals or ideals, for the call of blood and battle. There is nothing like the rush of fighting one whom you know has the capability of killing you. The rush of battle envelops you, takes you in, reaching a point where you don't care if you die, don't care for defeat, as long as you can get in one more strike. War is a beautiful thing, and gets better only if you have a reason to fight. This is why orcs were born for war… we have the mindset of the warrior, something most Alliance and even some Horde do not understand. The mindset I hold I beat into the souls of my House members, which numbered as many as the scars on my back…I never had much luck with rogues.

We grew a lot over those times. More importantly, we grew stronger over them. Banded together, whom can destroy us? None but God himself. We shall take our campaign to the Black Temple, and one day…

…to Northrend.


End file.
